


Easily

by dreamboats



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Romance, minor warnings in the beginning notes, predebut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamboats/pseuds/dreamboats
Summary: Some things, like late night consciousness, come to Yangyang easily. The rest, like early morning contemplation, Dejun makes up for.





	Easily

**Author's Note:**

> Ya writer is back? It has been a wild few months since the last fic, one reason being the support it has gotten. ;u; Thank you very much to those who left comments and kudos, especially users featherytongue and baesic! Thank you all for giving the fic a chance and clicking on it despite it being *checks calendar* out of season at this point lmao
> 
> Seriously, I can't thank everyone enough. Your kind interest is the warmest gift any writer could receive, I think, and it's especially wonderful to have received it as a welcoming gift, as well.
> 
> Because of that, I did want to kind of give back and post a longer fic set in the same AU, but it's turning out to be more demanding than I expected. I hope you'll keep an eye out for it!
> 
> In the meantime, may I present this offering starring another set of soft boys. ;u; It's tagged Hurt/Comfort, but it's meant to be more comforting than hurtful (for those reading, at least /o\\) Please enjoy!
> 
> CW: mentions of flogging, tsunamis, and similar oceanic phenomena (only for metaphorical purposes though)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Considering the time they’ve spent as roommates, Yangyang should’ve long been accustomed to this, the frame of his and Dejun's bunk bed swaying as the other boy climbs down at 3 in the morning. Just like Dejun’s, though, Yangyang’s body has preferences of its own, one that won't allow him to sleep with his head against the designated headboard, too close to the desk supporting his gaming setup. Of course, that only means his head is much closer to Dejun's creaking footsteps than it should be. By the time Dejun’s feet touch the floor, Yangyang’s eyes are usually wide enough to watch his form move. Dejun’s silhouette, broadened by his oversized shirt, raises a hand to his face and runs it over his eyes before he leaves the room.

Yangyang is used to the haze veiling that moment of wakefulness between Dejun's descent and eventual climb back to his perch. Blinking at the soft wash of light from behind the window drapes, Yangyang sighs, as images of sparkling water and a lone tower standing proud against a low skyline flicker into another montage of multi-colored lights gleaming amidst skyscrapers and mountains into another one of endless streaks of headlights flowing back and forth across multiple bridges. Sometimes, when the curtain of sleep is still too heavy, Yangyang’s chest constricts, and his eyes dart around in search of light above him, until he remembers; the hundred glow-in-the-dark stars he and his parents had stuck to his bedroom ceiling were traded for a single night lamp oceans away, until he had to give even that up years ago for bars that barely reflect the city lights. More than once, he's wondered if Dejun’s ceiling sheds just as much light as his.

Yangyang's eyelids droop, spiting the memories of his last monitored practice looping in his mind like a flogging he must endure for clarity. His chat messages of “Please don't worry,” and “They say it's only a matter of time,” are the balm he has to apply and reapply to the sore spots, born of his losing the beat, confused with the painful thumping of his uncertain heart. Time flows so strangely in the throes of emotion, and Yangyang tries not to lament the lighter moments that hardly ever feel long enough compared to those that only seem to drag on and on. He had heard the word “adjustment” many times over in multiple ways, as he moved from classroom to classroom, river to river, and home to home. It was in this way that he had come to learn that there are few to no constants in life, and that even his conviction in that belief could be questioned.

Just when the thought of Dejun's whereabouts floats to the surface of Yangyang's mind, the missing boy reappears. He makes his way back to the bed slowly, almost dragging his feet across the tile floor. It’s not a new sight, but it's unusual for Dejun to be this sluggish after a trip from their room and back. Yangyang watches, with steady, quiet breaths, as Dejun braces himself against the bed’s ladder and grips it, but does not ascend. A sound, like a sigh verging on a sob, pushes against the tension of Yangyang's mind and starts off ripples of panic.

“Jun?” Yangyang rises so quickly from his pillow, his vision is splashed with white. He tries to refocus on where he thinks Dejun's face still is as he wills his head not to spin.

From the mist in Yangyang's eyes, Dejun replies, sounding rather croaky. “Oh, you're awake.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. Aren't you going back to sleep?”

“That's my line.” Yangyang pulls a knee towards his chest, and shuts his eyes as he comes to rest his back against the wall. “You know I can't sleep till after you've come back to bed for good.”

“I know. I just… needed a moment.”

“Better sit down, then. I could use some company, too.”

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than Dejun moves. The spot of mattress next to Yangyang sinks, as the scent of Dejun's green tea shampoo crests to tickle Yangyang's nose. Yangyang has to squeeze his arm between Dejun's back and the wall, but the other boy understands, and makes room for him, allows his hand to settle on Dejun's shoulder.

It's far too easy for Dejun to tuck his head against Yangyang’s shoulder, and even easier for Yangyang to pull Dejun closer.

When Yangyang opens his eyes again, he sees the outline of one of Dejun's socked feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. It isn't clear in the wanting light, but he could swear that Dejun's toes curl when Yangyang starts to run his fingers through Dejun's hair. Something less familiar than physical contact with him, and yet almost as comfortable, swells in the gaps between the beats of Yangyang's heart, just like the way the other boy's limbs slide easily in the spaces afforded him by Yangyang.

Once again, it's a long stretch of silence broken only by a sigh from Dejun. Then, “How much longer?” he mumbles, lips practically against Yangyang's shirt.

His breath, curling so close to Yangyang's bare neck, has Yangyang recalibrating. “Huh?”

“How much longer do we have?”

“Hmm, can't be too long, right?” If his phone was within arm's reach, Yangyang could make a show of checking the time, though it’s clearly not what Dejun meant. “It must be close to 4 A.M. now, and we gotta get up at 7.”

Dejun’s arm tightens around Yangyang's midriff as the both of them chuckle. “I meant until our debut!” Dejun whines.

Yangyang's thoughts turn to Kun-ge, who must have had the question caught in the recesses of his own mind every day since he came to the company. One could hardly tell, though, with his placid musings and words of advice to give Yangyang whenever the topic of debuting comes up. 

Xuxi himself had been fretting over his own situation not too long ago, until he was surprised with the good news of an upcoming NCT U lineup including him. After that, there was nothing to feel but excitement all around. 

“It can't be too long.” Yangyang rubs Dejun's scalp, a bit heavier and slower now. 

Dejun shifts. “How do you that?” He plants his chin squarely on Yangyang's shoulder to look at him. “Sounding so sure.”

Yangyang can only look from the corner of his eye. “Dunno.” He's felt at the complete mercy of the fates before, but he can't remember his mettle, his grit, being tested quite like this, left to corrode in his own salty sweat and tears for a mere chance, and yet...

“What kept you going? On the show.”

“Hmm.” Dejun straightens up, and disentangles his limbs from Yangyang's, but doesn't move away. He thrums with the memory of something primeval, and Yangyang knows. He's hit the mark. 

“Hope, I suppose.” Dejun replies. His eyes, when he turns back to Yangyang, are ablaze like a couple of earthly stars. The thought that light can touch faraway entities, and be mirrored by them -- no matter how faint, how small, how unlikely -- makes it easy to forget about the confinements Yangyang and Dejun have forced themselves into in the name of security.

“Was it always there? Or were you unsure the whole time?”

Dejun pauses at the first question, but his answer to the second arrives quicker. “Oh no, I don't think I would've joined if I was completely unsure, you know... of myself, my abilities, my chances...”

“Of what you wanted.”

“Exactly.” Dejun now separates from Yangyang to face him completely, nevertheless gripping Yangyang's hands with his own warm, warm ones. “I feel like I did run low on hope at times, but I never actually lost it until I... lost. Even then, my hopes for the future never really died.”

“That's why you're here,” Yangyang mutters. Dejun nods, smiling, and a wave of trembling courage comes over Yangyang, too. “Then,” he says more clearly, “that's what we have to hold onto, right?” He faces Dejun head-on, as well. It feels just like the first time he offered his trusted medicinal oil bottle for Dejun to take from, with all the good wishes bubbling up to dispel the stagnant hesitation. 

“Hope?”

“Yeah... and our unchanging heart.” It sounds so unironically Kun-like that Yangyang has to cringe at his own words. His plan is foiled as Dejun holds him tight.

“What?” Dejun laughs. “You’re right, though! We came with a heart set on music, didn't we? And that heart hasn't changed, has it?”

That, Yangyang can say with absolute certainty at this moment, is a constant that he has not, and will not let go of. “Not at all.”

Dejun nods, as if Yangyang had the answers all along. He squeezes Yangyang's hands before releasing them to lean back on his palms. “It looks like we're just gonna have to keep at this. Never mind all the rest. Never mind that this might all turn out to be a waste in the end.” His gaze drifts upward, fixing on the bars that support his bunk. 

Seeing the street lights play on the planes of Dejun's face, Yangyang feels no need to check if his nightly view has changed, or to wonder if it’s any brighter. “Hard work never goes to waste, you know, and the amount of work you've put in is no joke.”

The day he met Dejun, even before he found out that they were going to be teammates, a sharp, unforgiving seriousness about him struck Yangyang. It ran in counterpoint to the wide-eyed optimism, if not apprehension, that characterized other newcomers, placing Dejun closer to the senior trainees than his actual peers. To Yangyang, it was clear that Dejun had crossed his own rivers before arriving at Seoul, and this initial impression would only deepen with the lengthening time and shortening space between them. If anyone deserved to have their wishes granted, it was Dejun.

“I can say the same of you,” Dejun replies.

Then again, it wasn’t that Yangyang deserved to debut more than any other trainee, especially not those he's seen at work. He couldn't say he had an edge over Guanheng, for example, who had seemed like a shoo-in from the outset, but expanded on his good image by displaying something far less tenuous than glamour. Just like him, Yangyang had merely kept his eyes on the well-worn road, and hoped for the best. The self-discipline paid off, and he rose in the ranks until he was granted a spot in the NCT dorms. Others weren’t so lucky, and had to be cut just inches away from the coveted goal despite their head start over Yangyang. The sad thing is, it wasn’t entirely their fault.

Yangyang refuses to believe that all of that would come to nothing only because some people, blinded by their own artifices, decided that putting everything at stake was not enough. Maybe it was not really the call of these humans, with all their flaws and their earthly desires, but something whose workings were even more mysterious and, Yangyang could imagine, even more powerful.

In that case, Yangyang thinks, the question then is whose will would prevail. It’s not something he can answer now, if he ever could, but there’s always been a part of him that tended towards the path of least resistance. He hasn't been altogether avoiding the fights that break out on the uphill climb (though if it were up to him, no one would have to fight at all). Rather, he's learned to choose his battles, taking every unnecessary and unwinnable one as a signal to adjust course, not to stop completely. As Sicheng-ge recently quoted, mountains cannot turn, but roads can.

If, in spite of the best efforts, the worst comes to pass, then maybe that would be the sign to direct energy elsewhere, somewhere it could flow and spread, no longer to be trivialized or limited.

His heavy thoughts finally run out of room to roll over each other up his throat, and break into a tsunami of a speech. Dejun simply nods, affirms Yangyang's emotion-soaked words with his drier ones, and it wouldn't be true if Yangyang said it doesn't take all he has not to fall into the sheer, open empathy in Dejun's glistening eyes. Yangyang remembers to inhale before another wave crashes over his head and pulls him towards the depths. But just like that, everything recedes, and the both of them are left in a different place, despite having not moved at all. “Thank you.” For all that vulnerability, it’s the most that Yangyang can give Dejun.

"Thanks for listening, too... for sharing your thoughts, and your strength, with me."

Yangyang chokes on a laugh as he raises an exasperated hand to his face. "Ugh, unbelievable. We're not even at a family meeting, yet we're talking like this." His palm comes away wet, which adds to his chagrin. He isn't even the crier between the two of them.

Fortunately, Dejun's too busy dabbing at his own eyes to notice anything different about Yangyang. "The geges would be proud. You brought out some pretty words there, too. Very eloquent." He smiles, quite sincerely.

"Eloquent enough to use in your lyrics?"

"Perhaps," Dejun singsongs.

Yangyang clears his throat, then claps a hand on Dejun’s long-sleeved arm. “We good?” he asks, purposely flattening his tone for his next teasing words. “Or do you need more cuddles?”

Dejun doesn’t deign to respond to the provocation. “Give me a hug for the road and I'll be back to normal.”

“Implying you were ever normal,” Yangyang says, though he’s spread his arms anyway.

Dejun huffs into the embrace. “You get me, so you can’t be all that normal, either.” He pats Yangyang’s back soundly, as if trying to comfort him.

Yangyang carries on. “At least I don’t have annoying habits.”

At that, Dejun breaks away. He raises an eyebrow at Yangyang. “Don’t make me start a list of yours!”

“I’m taking my hug back.”

Dejun scrambles away, chuckling, to where he last stood in front of the bed ladder. “Als ob.” 

Of course, only Dejun, aside from Ten, would use someone's teachings against them. Yangyang cocks his head in amusement. He has to give Dejun that one.

The bed frame teeters once again as the hazy moment passes, and Dejun finally returns to his deck. Yangyang merely watches, as he usually does, until there’s nothing left of Dejun to see, and he’s faced with the lit window again. It looks brighter than it did before, and Yangyang wonders if his eyes have simply adjusted to the darkness, or if the day is actually about to break.

Either way, it’s time to rest. Yangyang’s heart quiets down as it slows into a more tender, more familiar beat. He settles back onto his pillow, not bothering with his blanket in the warm room.

“Summer, you'll see. We'll have news by the summer.”

Dejun hums. “I'll hold you to that, Liu Yangyang.”

“If i'm wrong, I'm buying you that skin you wanted.”

“You said you’d get it for New Year, though."

Yangyang clicks his tongue. “Right.”

“Tell you what." The bed creaks again, and Dejun peeks over the edge of the bunk. "If your prediction doesn't come true--”

“It will.”

“--You let me take the bottom bunk, and then we'll call it quits.”

“In your dreams, Xiao Dejun.”

“Can't blame a guy for trying.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please do let me know what you think by leaving a comment, or by pressing that heart button, if you'd like~ 
> 
> To add just a few more notes:
> 
> "Als ob" is German for "as if". That was me wishfully thinking that whatever little German Yangyang has been teaching WayV would actually stick, given that no one in the dorms "needs" to learn the language lol "als ob" indeed.
> 
> The proverb quoted by Sicheng goes 山不转路转, and its literal translation is what you read in the fic.
> 
> The title is from the song by Bruno Major, which swooped in just when the working title had been promoted to official title.
> 
> Finally, I just want to say again that I hope you've found some comfort in the fic, as that is the raison d'être of the story. If you're going through something right now, I hope you find something to hold on to as you find your way up and out. Please remember that in the deepest part of your heart is love, the strongest force in this world, and that no one can ever take that love away from you. Take care of yourselves, and let's see each other again on a happier day. 💚


End file.
